Bad Things

by Tamara Thorne

  Robin halted three feet from him. “A fight for possession of your body? Wasn’t that your offer?”

  “It doesn’t count now. That was if you handed over my son. You didn’t. Now I just get to kill you.”

  “You don’t have the guts.”

  “Try me.”

  Robin’s face twisted into a malignant smile. “Remember the last time you tried to kill me? You didn’t have the nerve then, either.” He put his callused hand out, palm upward, and slowly closed the fingers with a hard, twisting motion. “I’m surprised you could father children after I got through with you.”

  “You murdered Delia.”

  His grin was malicious. “You pissed me off, trying to strangle me like that. It’s all your fault.”

  Rick hesitated, caught by the words. It’s not your fault, he told himself sternly. Don’t listen to him.

  “Of course, I screwed her brains out before I killed her,” his twin taunted.

  Don’t take the bait. Rick held his ground. “You killed Mom and Dad because they were going to send you away.”

  Robin nodded. “All your fault, Ricky.”

  “And you set the explosion at the carnival to stage your own death.”

  “You catch on quick, icky Ricky.”

  His leg throbbed, and a lead weight filled his stomach. “Do you even know how many people you killed that night?”

  Robin laughed. “Nope. Who cares?”

  Rick lifted the sword from the ground and stepped toward his twin. His leg almost twisted out from under him, but he managed to keep his balance. “This is for my parents and Delia and for all the carnival people you killed.” He aimed the saber. “This is for my children. And this is for me.”

  “You can’t kill me,” Robin said, undaunted. “They’ll put you in jail.”

  “No. You’re already dead. If you hadn’t killed Jade, I’d just kill you for good and bury you out in the yard among your friends. But you committed murder and left mountains of evidence, so I’ll just kill you in self-defense and tell the police all about it. No problem.”

  For the first time, Robin showed concern. His gaze traveled toward the left side of the house. Rick knew what he was thinking. “They won’t call the police until I tell them to. It’s just you and me.”

  On the grass at the edge of the cement, several jacks appeared to be watching. One, dimmer than the rest, waited unmoving.

  “Robin,” Rick said softly.

  “Robin?” his twin mimicked immediately. “I told you you couldn’t kill me, you sentimental asshole.”

  Ricky . . . The voice strained with effort to be heard. Help me.

  Rick nodded at the quiet little jack, then turned his attention back to Robin. “My brother’s here. He’s here and he’s watching. He’s waiting for you to die so that he can go free.”

  Robin had been resting on his hands, doing the spider as he spoke. Suddenly, before Rick could react, his twin bent his elbows into a crouch, swung his body back, and propelled himself at his legs. The sword flew out of Rick’s hands and clattered to the cement and his leg exploded with pain as he fell backwards into the cold pool water, Robin attached. He tried to kick his way to the surface, but Robin held his legs together, a lead weight pulling him down, deeper and deeper.

  Fresh blood seeped redly into the clean water.

  The world moved in slow motion. His lungs burned. He’s going to hold me under until I pass out, then he’ll drag me out and move in. Robin would kill the old body and assume his identity. What am I going to do? Black spots filled Rick’s vision. He was almost out of time.

  Frantically he reached down and grabbed Robin’s hair, yanking his head up. His twin glared at him, and started to climb up Rick’s body.

  No! Rick pushed his free hand through the water and smashed it against Robin’s nose, but the fluid resistance was too strong. His twin’s hands dug into his thighs, crawling toward his groin, and Rick let go of his brother’s hair and immediately shoved one thumb into each eye as deeply as he could.

  One second. Two. Robin’s hands let go of Rick’s legs and flew to his wrists, trying to yank them free. Rick kicked frantically toward the surface.

  His head broke water and he gulped fresh, cold air. It gave him the strength to hang on to Robin, to keep his thumbs pressed against his eyes. He winced as his twin bit into his wrist, once, then again, but he managed to keep his head above water, and Robin’s below.

  “Rick!”

  Dimly he heard Dakota’s cry. “Go!” he screamed. “Leave!” He had to concentrate on what he was doing or Robin’s powerful arms would pull him free.

  Long seconds passed, and finally his brother’s hands loosened, then fell away. Rick grabbed one limp arm and swam to the edge of the pool. Wearily he climbed out. He turned and pulled Robin’s body from the water and laid it on the cement near the grass.

  The dim greenjack hovered next to it. Rick glanced around, saw Dakota watching from the front porch. Relieved, he said, “He’s dead.”

  Ricky!

  “Trick or treat, little brother!” Robin sat up, the flesh around his eyes looking puffy and bruised. “Fooled you, didn’t I?” He lunged.

  Rick rolled backwards out of the way, felt the sword under his arm and grabbed its hilt. He brought it around and held it out as Robin flew at him.

  Robin’s eyes grew huge as he saw the sword, but it was too late. He couldn’t stop, and the saber drove straight into his chest.

  Screaming, he fell back on the grass, and the sword pinned him to the ground below. Rick knelt beside him and saw that it had run him through just below the heart.

  Robin breathed rapidly, his eyes open and furious as the little greenjack approached. “I hate you,” he snarled.

  Then, for a brief second, the face went blank, and at the same time the little jack flared with bright color and its face vaguely resembled Robin’s.

  Icky Ricky icky Ricky icky Ricky icky Ricky.

  The words faded as the ousted jack sped away toward the oak.

  “Ricky.”

  “Robin.”

  His brother’s face looked like his own now, open and youthful. “Robin? It’s you, isn’t it?”

  “It’s me.” Robin coughed. Rick gently lifted his brother’s head, letting it rest on his uninjured leg. He wiped flecks of blood from Robin’s mouth and pushed the dark, wet hair from his eyes. He looked at the sword piercing the body, back at Robin.

  “Leave it,” his brother said.

  “Okay.” Rick looked toward the house. Dakota was gone, thank God.

  “Every night I came out and watched you, wishing I could talk to you. But I couldn’t.” Robin coughed a little more blood. “I wasn’t strong enough. Sometimes you heard me, though, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “I thought you did. I thought I heard you answer.” He reached up one trembling hand and felt the contours of Rick’s face. A corner of his mouth crooked up. “We’re good-looking, aren’t we?”

  Rick smiled. “Yes, we are. Robin, were you happy with the jacks?”

  Almost imperceptibly he shook his head. “It was fun running and moving, but there was nothing else. I wasn’t one of them. Their senses are different. There’s no taste or smell. You can’t touch anything.” As he spoke he took Rick’s hand. “I should have listened to you, Ricky. I shouldn’t have teased you. I should have believed you.”

  “We were kids, Robin. Just kids.”

  “Yeah.” Robin’s voice broke. “Just kids.”

  “Yeah,” Rick repeated, cradling his twin closer. His tears splashed down on his brother’s cheek.

  Robin reached up and touched a tear with his finger. “It’s hot. I can feel it.” He started to cry, until coughing stopped the tears. “Oh, Ricky, I missed you.”

  “I missed you, brother.”

  Robin’s breath hitched a little and the color began to drain from his face. Rick took his hand again and held it against his own beating heart, barely able to see his brother, his e
yes were so full. “Thank you for saving my life that night in the oak tree.”

  “You’re welcome,” Robin said softly. For an instant his eyes drifted, then he seemed to force them to focus on Rick. “Thank you for saving my life tonight.”

  Rick wiped a bubble of blood from Robin’s pale lips. “I’m a little late.”

  “Better late than never.” Robin gave him a small smile and coughed up more blood.

  Rick wiped it away. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. Wow, this is weird.” Robin seemed to be looking at something beyond Rick.

  Rick glanced behind him, saw nothing. “What?”

  “I can see some pretty light. I hear Mom and Dad. Do you?”

  “No, I don’t. Robin?”

  Robin pulled his gaze back to his brother.

  “People you love are coming for you. They come in the light. The light’s good.”

  Robin coughed. “I believe you this time.” He smiled slightly. “For once, I can see something you can’t. Ricky, thank you. I guess we can talk more later.”

  “In another place,” Rick said gently. “Or time.”

  Robin said something Rick couldn’t understand. His respiration had slowed to a faint hitch that came at longer intervals.

  Suddenly Robin squeezed his hand. “Ricky, I love you. I’ve always loved you.” His hand went limp and his gaze drifted to the beyond.

  “And I love you.” Rick bent and kissed Robin’s forehead. “Never forget,” he whispered as his brother sighed and set free his final breath. “I love you.”

  He closed his brother’s eyes and held him, and after a time, he didn’t know how long, he carefully eased Robin’s head down against the grass. Then, wiping his eyes, he rose and took the pool net from its holder to use as a staff.

  He limped around the pool, then paused to look back across it at his brother’s still form, then up at Don Quixote, who stared heroically into the night. Rick saluted him, before turning to make his way painfully across the lawn and into the backyard.

  Limping up the little walkway to Carmen’s cottage, he saw the warm yellow light glowing in the windows. He rapped on the door, and Audrey opened it immediately, kissing him frantically as she and Dakota put their arms around him and helped him inside, exclaiming, loving, accepting him. Berating him, too, he realized happily. Cody, asleep on the couch, woke and tried to climb into his wet lap, but Dakota gently pulled him away, telling him later, there would be plenty of time later.

  “You can call the cavalry now, O’Keefe,” Rick said. He suddenly felt so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open.

  “Cavalry hell,” Dakota said as Audrey wrapped a fresh dry towel around his leg. “I’m just calling the cleanup crew.” He looked Rick up and down as Audrey draped a blanket around his shoulders. “Piper, dear, you are the cavalry.”

  Dear Readers:

  I hope you’ve enjoyed BAD THINGS. I had a lot of fun writing it. The greenjacks (and Big Jack) are a type of element that ties into the lore of the Green Man. He is an archetypical nature god dating to the earliest humans. The most famous variation is Pan, and it was his horns and cloven hooves that the European invaders assigned to Satan. As usual, the god of the old became the devil of the new.

  Sometimes called Jack O’ the Green, the nature deity was banished by church of Rome missionaries sent to the British Isles by Pope Gregory the Great in 600 A.D. Pagan artists forced to adorn the churches quickly began sculpting many of their nature deities (primarily the Green Man) into the ornamentation of these buildings. That way the people could secretly worship their own gods.

  My next novel is an unusual ghost story. Psychologist Will Banning is haunted by a just-out-of-reach memory from his childhood. Trying to uncover this forbidden secret dominates his thoughts until his attention is diverted by lifelong friend (and should-be lover) Maggie Maewood, who tells him about the strange behavior of animals in her veterinary clinic. Will, having already noticed strange avian behavior, is fascinated.

  Then people begin acting strangely too. His office is filled with patients, old and new, exhibiting sudden signs of schizophrenia, seeing ghosts, hearing voices. After one patient tells him something that, on the surface, seems outrageous but has a ring of truth, Will delves deeper and deeper, unconcerned with the danger of asking too many questions.

  As always, I look forward to hearing from my readers. You can visit my Web site at www.tamarathorne.com.

  Best,

  Tamara

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  Copyright © 1994 by Chris Curry

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3256-4

  Previously published under the title Panic by Pocket Books.